Write It Out
by Smiley756
Summary: It's more than a journal, it's a friend. Liley.
1. Introductions

**Howdy.**

** I put _Liley_ on the summary. I'm not lying, there will be _Liley_. Just be patient.**

**I know there isn't much of a plot starter in this chapter yet, but in a few you'll see some changes. Just bare with me.**

**The writing style in this is a little...different, it's supposed to be the way it is. **

**This is set in the past so that it will work its way into the present.  
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**Don't worry, Disney; I'm thirteen and have no intention of ripping you off.  
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_6/14/07_

Entry #1

Really Mom? Really? You think I have a problem? I can understand that—yes. But this is how you solve it? You get me a _journal_? That's just...lame. Maybe I won't talk to you because I don't _want_ to. Maybe your concerned voice gets on my _last_ nerve. Maybe you should just _stop trying_.

I'll write in this for fun—for kicks. Maybe when I get older I'll look at it and scoff at my petty problems. Unrequited love? Psh. Smidge depressed at fourteen? Psh. Starting high school in the fall? Psh. All stupid and unimportant. I don't need this, I don't need anyone.

Yes journal, I know you're wondering why I'm so bitter. I know you can do that, because you're _so_ much more than paper bound into a book. You have feelings, of course you do. That's what people say. Journals have this _supernatural_ ability to help. Why? And how? This is ludicrous, I'm wasting my time. I sit here dulling another pencil, more lead pouring onto blank pieces of dead tree. Wasted.

Locked up in my own room. I know I'm lucky for that. I pity anyone who doesn't have their own space. It's a place to get away, an escape. A sanctuary. And while others view being locked up a punishment, I consider it a privilege. I'm grateful for it.

You want to know my life story? Hah. You'll get bored half way through. You'll set this down and find more interesting things to do. Maybe fishing? I've always wanted to do that. Take me with you? No, of course you won't. No, I know, I'll be a bother. It's okay, don't worry. Have your fun, and I'll have mine. While you kill things _for pride_, I'll write this, feeling snide. But don't feel bad—don't pity me. I don't want that. You know my story? Well no, you don't. I haven't it written yet. You want me to? I can tell. Good luck. Let's begin:

Now, when should I start? Birth? No, too early. Then I'd have to dig up baby videos, and be interrogated by my mother. No, thanks. Preschool? Let's see...the only thing you need to know about that is I met a boy named Oliver. We're friends—and I am content with that. I don't want any more from him. Maybe he wants more from me, maybe.

The kingdom of the innocent, preschool. All ignorant, and in deep bliss. Then when you get older, you realize just how annoying everyone and everything is. You turn out like me, hated and unsure. And somewhere in the deep pit of you stomach, you know that's the way it's supposed to be. A friend, or two. The grains of sand at the bottom of the ocean. Metaphor anyone? No, not really. Bit after bit, swallowed into the beast, wondering. Will you ever get out? Will you ever escape from the status quo? Will you leave the others behind and live your life? No, of course you won't. No one does.

You strive for the stars. Your dreams are always there, waiting to be brought to life. But they never are. They are stomped on and destroyed. Your own foolishness to show for it. But don't cry little ones, you have your youth. Make it last—because when it's gone. It's gone.

I rant a lot, can you tell? I've managed to tell you a lot, without telling you a thing. Do you think I am sly? You shouldn't, I don't know what I'm doing. But maybe I should tell you a little about myself, little journal.

I'm not like you—any of you. I grew up like a boy. Well, I'm not a boy. I'm a girl, a female. People look at me in wonder. What is she wearing? They think. Why does she act like this? They think. They pick on me, they all do. I don't let it get to me most of the time--most. Sometimes, though. Sometimes it does. I'll snap at them, and they laugh. Whatever. Let them have their fun, I'm happy to entertain. But no, they are not the reason I am a 'smidge depressed'. No, I am not clinical, suicidal, or any of the such. Did you see that 'unrequited love' one up there? Yeah, maybe that's the reason. Maybe.

I'm not going with time. In fact, I've skipped everything and told you the current situation. Maybe I shouldn't do that. Maybe I should explain. I'll make this short and snappy:

Born.

Preschool, met Oliver.

Started feeling different from the 'princess pack'

One word: sports.

Still friends with Oliver, yes.

Middle school starts: _HELL_!

Started getting picked on. Started caring, then soon stopped.

One word: Miley...

Another word: _Love_.

More words: _I'm a lesbian_.

There, journal. Happy? I just revealed that to you, go spread the word. Go on. Still waiting. Can't? Too bad.

Did I forget to say that love was unrequited? Yes, I did.

Well it is.

The curly-haired brunette beauty. She captured my attention from the start. Her southern twang and somewhat shy personality complimented mine. We connected. And she is the reason for my 'smidge depression'. Can I abbreviate that? I hate writing it out. Smidge depression is now SD. Got it? Good.

I hate that she is the reason. Can you hate someone you love? Yes, you can. It's so conflicting. By the way, are my sentence fragments bothering you? Do you feel the need to correct me? Don't—because I won't let you. This is mine, you can't have it. Go fish.

Sorry, I stray off topic. Back to....my love. It pains me to be with her. But it is two types of pain. One is the pain of my sinking heart when she talks about _boys_. The other, the sting when one of her limbs touches mine. That is sweet pain. I enjoy that pain. I know there's a word for that...is it pain enthusiast? No...

I act generic. I don't see how she enjoys my company. I'm acting _fake_. She doesn't know. I need to pretend, because if I don't—well then I'm doomed aren't I?

I'll leave you on a cliffy, journal of mine. I know, I know, you hate me. Don't sweat it, I hate you too.

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**I like this. Short, yes. I'm glad that you read through all of that, even though the jumpy style might make you want to scream and correct me. It's supposed to be jumpy.**

**Your reviews motivate me (hint hint)**

**:)**


	2. Chills

**This is going to be a slowww plot, I just hope that you'll enjoy Lilly's commentary.  
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**Also, if you haven't noticed, this will mostly just be Lilly's journal entries. Maybe once in a while I'll put some 3rd person in there. We'll see how it goes.**

**I'll put my anonymous ****review replies here, I guess.**

**PrincessOfDawn: ********Thanks so much for the review, it means a lot. I hope you find your way around the Liley community, there's an awful lot of amazing stories out there. Just gotta keep looking.  
**

******Shh, Disney it's okay. I don't own this.  
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6/30/07_

Entry #2

Maybe I was forced to write in this by my mother. Maybe.

I'm sorry journal, does my terrible grammar bother you? Too bad. Sentence fragments are the shit, and that's how it goes.

Did that seem all gangster to you? I hope so, because that's how I meant it to be.

Now....something else to say....

This has been on my mind, so here it goes:

How long could you go without talking? Without uttering a single word, letter, sound, anything. How long do you think it would be before you went mad? I saw this "Twilight Zone" episode once. Some guy made a bet that he wouldn't talk for a year, and then he'd get a butt load of cash or something. And you know what he did? He removed his vocal cords. It's too bad, because the guy who was supposed to give him money, didn't have any. Oh, ho, ho, sixties television. You get me every time.

I tried that a while ago (going without talking, not getting my vocal cords removed. That would be just—stupid). I was doing pretty well too. Well, if you count the hours that I was sleeping, then yeah. Around, eight or so hours, and a few at school. I would've kept going too, until Miley asked me why I was ignoring her. Needless to say, I talked again.

Little ol' journal. I flipped through you a few days ago. It's all blank, mostly. Lonely. Do you wish for lead tattoos on your paper covered arms? That doesn't even make sense, and yet I love saying it. Paper covered arms—ooh, chills down my spine.

I left you with a cliffy last time didn't I? Yep. I know you don't need a recap, since it's written all over you. Like test answers, except more—not cheating? Forget that comparison, it was weird. Now, now. Don't get all antsy my paper bound book. I'll tell you about things—in time. Right now, this is fun, this is cool. Okay, no. I don't think any popular kid spends their sunny, Saturday days writing in journals. If they do, I feel sincerely sorry for them.

I jump from topic to topic without transitions, and I know it bugs you. I can tell from the way your paper wrinkles from my touch. How you reject my lead by breaking it. While that may be supremely annoying, there's this thing called a sharpener. Yeah. Take that.

Oh, and by the way. _Fire_. Do you know what fire does to little journals like you? _It kills you_. It burns you to a sweet ashy crisp. Good luck surviving fire, journal.

Sorry, I'm being a little morbid right now. I'm plotting of ways to kill a journal. And I didn't think I had a problem...hah. I can feel the insane asylum calling my name from the non-existent windows. The straight jackets and thousands of pills, all for me. All for the enjoyment of those who just have a little _too_ much fun in the world. The ones who plot to kill paper. Oh yes.

Whoopsies, I've done it again. I've told you so much, while telling you so little. I enjoy my ranting, yet it gets me nowhere. It doesn't get anyone anywhere. Well, except filling up your paper covered arms. _(Chills)_. The more meaningless words I put in here, the closer I am to burning—wait, sorry. I'm plotting to hurt you again. _My bad_. Could you forgive me? Could you find it in your heart to give me a second chance? Thanks.

I'll apologize again. I know this must be disturbing to read, really. But I can't help it, it's so fun arguing with a notebook.

Hmm..arguing. That reminds me of something. Come on, remember, you can do it. Aha! Today, I argued with Miley and Oliver. We went to the beach (yes, our summer started a while ago. Thanks California) which started out pretty good. But then, we started arguing about...some movie. What was it called? Forget it. Point is, we got into an argument. Oliver stormed off, leaving me with Miley. I was kind of annoyed with her, but then she pulled me into a hug. I _melted_. Completely.

Maybe she tried to pull away from me after a few seconds. Maybe I didn't let her. Maybe.

Okay, I wrote a poem. Don't laugh at me journal. _Shut up_, I can feel you quivering. Stop.

It's kind of terrible—in my opinion. But it describes the way I feel about Miley, and I know that's what everyone wants me to do in this thing. Express myself. Well, here I go. Expressing myself...

I think I'll call it...bleh, I don't know what to call it. Whatever. Here it is...look down. DOWN.

My love

It goes wasted and unappreciated

Spent on nothing but meaningless hugs and petty words

Sometimes I wish I had more

I wish I had you

But I won't

And I can't

I'll accept defeat

Maybe try to move on

But I won't

And I can't

I'm sorry

My love

Please don't try and elaborate on it. Please? Yeah, yeah. I know it doesn't really sound like me, but it is. That's kind of the way I feel about the situation with her. It seems like a hopeless effort to even _try_ to get her. And I know I can't, so what's the point? With the 'I'm sorry' at the end. I don't know why I put that there, it just kind of—happened.

So, journal. Do you think I'm a sap now? Because I'm not. I like writing poems, they describe me. They describe my unruly attempts, and enormous failures. But it's alright, I'll be okay. In fact, I'm going to try tomorrow. I'm going to try and just _see_ if Miley's into me. Just a little. How I'm going to do that...I'm not sure. Yes, I know I just said that it was hopeless. But you can't spell hopeless without hope. Okay, fail. Never mind, I failed there.

I think this may be the end of my entry for today. I'll try and write in here more often, _promise_! I'll see you later journal, and your paper covered arms.

(_Chills_)

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******Ahaha I LOVE writing this. It's so fun. **

******Oh, and the poem. Yeah, I wrote it. I know it's not too good, but it came to me at like two in the morning on Saturday. So give a girl some props.**

******Thank you for the reviews on everything I've written. They make my world go 'round.  
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	3. Sap

**Why is it whenever I try to update a story, FF decides to not send anyone emails about it? It's the most frustrating thing, _ever_.  
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**I own my terrible attempt at my science homework tonight. I can feel my grades slipping...  
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7/1/07_

Entry #3

You must be proud of me, I wrote in this the next day. Yep. I know you're wondering what went down today. Well, we must be pretty alike, because I'm wondering too.

I'll tell you what happened:

So...Miley invited me to her house. We hung out, watched movies. Same old, same old. Oh, and did I mention that we hugged? _Multiple times_. I wonder what she would think if she knew I took so much enjoyment in our embraces? She'd raise her eyebrows—definitely. Anyways, so yeah, movies. We watched some sappy romance, with lots of uncomfortable kissing scenes. She laid her head on my lap, I was biting my lip the entire time.

You know how I told you yesterday that I was going to try and ask her how she felt about me? Well, I was going to. But then, the weirdest thing happened (no, I'm not making excuses). So Miley told me that she was going to the bathroom. I'm like sure, right? So she goes, and _never comes back_. Seriously. I gave her ten, twenty, even thirty minutes. I was like, what the hell? How long does it take you to pee, Miley, really? I went looking for her, checking all of the rooms. She wasn't in any of them. It was so weird. Long story short, I left a note in very shaky, worried handwriting.

She called me later. Told me that she went on the roof. What? Seriously, what? Who just leaves their friend and go sits on the roof? She told me that she was a little upset. That made me angry. Um, hello? That's what I'm for! You're supposed to confide in me! Bleh!

I'm not sure when I'll attempt to ask her about me again. Even though I didn't actually say anything, I gathered a crap load of courage for today, and it was kind of destroyed. Especially when Miley basically said she couldn't confide in me. That hurt, like hell. It was like getting stabbed in the stomach. Multiple times. She hurts me in one way or another time, and time again. Yet I can't leave her side, I never will.

I don't feel like writing too much right now, journal. I'm feeling too icky. I'll torment you another day. Just you wait.

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_8/16/07_

Entry #4

(Clears throat)

Hey. How's it going? Miss me? No, I can tell you didn't. Your inky pages are screaming curse words at me. I kind of winced at that. Don't be so mean.

My summer is coming to a close. I'm dying inside. _High school_. It's like middle school—except worse. These people are old, and big, and scary. Yes, I have a tough uppercut, but there are adults at this place. _Eighteen_. It's weird. I've heard rumours. Mostly about the deadly homework load. I'm scared stiff, totally. That was sarcasm, if you didn't notice.

So...Miley. Yeah. She's so damn cute. I'm a little surprised I haven't filled you completely with my love for her. Sap, extreme sap. I'd go into every detail, _every single one_. From her gorgeous silky hair, to her long, tanned legs. I could go on forever, I creep myself out.

Don't laugh at me. I have a match, you know. A lighter. _Fire_. Hah, haven't talked about that in a long time. Been almost two months. Yes, I know you're wondering about my leave of absence. Well, I was out having a life. Writing in you is not included in my life agenda.

I probably will fill you to the last line. What a waste, too. Perfectly good pen and paper, used on my feelings. No one cares about them, except Oliver and Miley. Oh, and my Mom. She loves me, I know she does. I love her too, but I don't want to talk to her. I'm just—not comfortable with that.

Oliver! How's he been doing? Well, he grew out his hair. I think he looks like a mop, just my opinion. He got a girlfriend too, Joannie. They're cute together, I guess. Miley has a boyfriend. Ouch, I've just been stabbed by my own words. Shoot, I'm bleeding. It's gushing. Hope that doesn't spill on the carpet, I'll for sure get a lecture. Someone get me a bandage? Sigh....I know, there's no such thing as a bandage for a broken heart. I want to make another poem. Right now, here it goes:

I see you everyday.

Yet you know not of my suffering.

Your words cut like glass.

Ripping me from the inside out.

The waves of pressure, swallowing me whole.

I can't get out.

I'm drowning.

Jeez, I don't know. I believe my poems suck dirt. But again, I like writing them. I'll put another one here every once in a while. I know you'll torment me. I can feel it. Let me have my fun, don't be cruel. Though I wonder, what do you do for fun? Does it tickle when I write in you? Or does it feel like I'm poking you? Well, _poke_.

You know what I just realized? This looks kind of like a lamp--or a dress. Word dress...I wonder how that would get voted at some award show. Best dressed, or worse? It's up to the bloggers.

Sorry, I strayed again. Let's talk more about my _feelings_. My feelings about my life situation...let's see.

I'm going to change my life around. I don't know how, or even if it's possible. But I'm going to reshape it all. It will be different, and I know I'll make it better. One way or another.

Don't you worry, I won't forget you and your paper covered arms (_chills)_. In fact, I've grown accustomed to them in my times of need. Don't point that in my face later, I won't appreciate it. And maybe I'll set you on fire.

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**Okay, here's the deal: my other story "Never What I Wanted To Hear" is being a little slugish lately, and I'm not sure if I want to continue it. If you haven't read it, well then I guess you might want to? I don't know, it's up to you. The first few chapters are just...suckish, and the last few are rushed. Other than that (laughs) it's still good. Just go read it and tell me if I should delete it or not. Maybe I'll re-write it...  
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**Oh and yeah, I wrote that poem too.**

**Reviews are like....awesome.  
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	4. Shawty

**Walking home with my iPod: Best. Decision. Ever.  
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**I'm too young to own anything. **

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8/20/07_

Entry #5

Hey kid. Aww, look at your chubby cheeks! Look at 'em! I'm gonna pinch 'em. They're just so cute! So big and round, and soft! Aww!

Sorry, that was my interpretation of my older cousins. By older, I mean like sixty year-olds. I'm the only one who's even close to fourteen. It's three year-olds, and then the rest are over thirty. Thanks family. I'm so jealous of those people who have a ton of cousins their age. They have 'so much fun' with them. Bonding. Lots of bonding. I want to bond with someone. Wait, I am. It's _you_! Aren't you lucky? We're bonding! Well, now I'm just making us sound like atoms. Hah, bad joke alert.

I hope you don't take my death threats too seriously. It's all in fun. Until I decide that it's not all in fun anymore. Then, you turn into ashes and/or sopping mess on the floor. But it's all good. You'll be fine.

I gathered up more courage today. Yes, I did. It only took me four days! I asked Miley........

Sorry, whenever I think or write her name my mind drifts off. So, anyways. I asked Miley...a question today. _About me_. Well, she didn't _know_ it was about me, exactly. People like me. But she doesn't know that they're like me, because I haven't told her. Yes, you're clueless, I can tell. I'll explain:

I asked her what she thought about Gay and Lesbian people today. I might have screwed up saying _Lesbian,_ too. I stuttered. A lot. I might have also barely been able to say that because I was kind of hyperventilating. What? I was nervous! Don't laugh....(fake sob).

So, to her reaction. She shrugged and said whatever.

All that courage, spent on a simple shrug and movement of the tongue. That wasn't supposed to sound weird, but it did. Deal with it. But back to Miley.... I don't really know what she thinks. A shrug can mean multiple things. She could either be like 'Uh..ew?' or 'Whatever, cool.' I hope it's the second. Please? C'mon journal, you're supernatural. Help me out. If I promised to not...beat you up someday, would you help me? Thanks! That means a lot.

Lookie here, I'm no chump. I know when things are hopeless, and when they're not. The second that Miley's boyfriend (gags) breaks up with her, she'll come crying back to me. Literally. It's not that I don't enjoy holding her. Because I _do_. So much. And then she falls asleep in my arms—which is unbelievably cute, I take some stalkerish photos of her on my phone. She'll thank me in the morning. I'll say 'no prob', and that's about it. Oh, and I'll pick you up, and throw you against a wall. Repeatedly. Sorry.

You know what? I'd like to see _you_ make a poem. I'd like to see you writing feverishly in another stupid journal. Oh, and it better not have wide ruled lines. I _despise_ wide ruled lines. It's disgraceful. No one should use wide ruled over the age of eight. End of story. No more discussion about this, it's making me sick.

What else can I talk about...besides destroying you and wide ruled paper. Oh, I know! I can complain! I can annoy you with things you hardly care about. Sweet. I'll go first:

Today I decided to listen to the radio, which I don't usually do. Mostly because of the generic songs and frequent commercials. But I gave it a shot today. Here's what it consisted of: Men talking extremely fast about someone named 'Shawty.' Who is this Shawty? Their dog? Anyway, they also talked about all the things they'd like to do with 'Shawty' in 'Da Club'. Well, if 'Shawty' is their dog, then that's....cool for them.

Hmm...what else? I don't know....your turn. Don't have anything to say? Tsk, tsk. That's not good for the soul. You should talk. Vent. Come on. Vent for me. I'm getting frustrated with you now. If you could see me, you'd see that I'm rolling my eyes at you. Do I need to get the match? Fine. I give up on you. Good luck getting through college, kid.

I think I write a lot for just a little journal entry. This is what...two pages so far? I could turn this in for a writing contest. Though, if I did, I think that the ones who read it would be a little concerned about the youth of America. You hear that, reader person? I know what you're thinking. Be creeped out.

And if you did publish said journal entry. Give me money. No joke. I want money. Do you even know how many hand cramps I've gotten writing this? It's pure insanity. So, uh, give me cash. Yeah.

My days are boring and uneventful, so I doubt you'd like to hear about them. But if you did, I'd tell you that I went to the beach again today. I surfed, I ate, I stared a certain brunette southern girl. She stared back. I looked away awkwardly. She smirked at me. I turned around and continued surfing.

I need a plan. I'm forming one in my brain as I jot things down on your surface. Maybe I'll serenade her....wait no, she's the singer, I'm not. I'd make her cringe and say a strangled compliment. Oliver would laugh, I would shove him. Joannie would yell at me for shoving him. I'd yell at her for yelling at me. Yeah, great plan.

No, I need something better. Something sneaky, yet sweet. I'd get her to accidentally admit something. Or I'd pull her in, closer, closer, and leave her gasping for breath. She'd wonder what the hell was happening, but it wouldn't even matter. Because we'd be together.

That's not what she wants, though. She has a boyfriend, and she wants me to get one too. Everyday I listen to her drone on and on about that. I crinkle my nose every time. Boys repulse me. I tell her that I'm happily single (even though I'm not) and she says that's why I need one even more. When we chat online about this, I can feel the rage boiling underneath my skin. I keep feeling the temptation to tell her the reason I don't want a boyfriend, is because I don't like boys. But uh, no. I could never say that. I always yell it at the screen, though. I'm sure my mother thinks that I'm insane. But hey, who doesn't?

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**Yes, these are all kinda short. But who writes 4,000 word journal entries? **

**Review, like seriously. I need to know that more people are enjoying this than just_ AThousandTimesMore_---though your reviews boost my ego and are so extremely nice and amazing, I need to know if more people like it than just you. But don't stop reviewing, I think i'd like die. :)  
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	5. Eyebrows and Punching Bags

**Why is my 'M' key not working very well? I have to pound on it. Damn. **

**At the time i'm writing this author's note, it's around 2:30 am, I can't sleep. I keep thinking about horror movies. Have you seen the commercial for "The Crazies"? If it wasn't horror, I'd be interested in seeing it. But it's horror, and I'm kinda scared right now. **

**I own my fear. Not anything else.  
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8/22/07_

Entry #6

Whelp, here we are again. Today was the first day of school. It went fabulously! And by fabulously, I mean utterly predictable and terrible. The second I walked into that parking lot I heard the hum of the provocative music and distant cries of reunited friends. These sights and sounds annoyed me to no end. But guess what? Oliver got a haircut! I was very proud him. Though he doesn't like it, he says he feels vulnerable. I think he's just 'Dumbo' with his ears cut off. Poor Dumbo. Oh, and in case you didn't know, Dumbo is that elephant with the big ass ears that he uses to fly around with. What a stretch, Disney. What a stretch.

Classes were boring, teachers mentioning their procedures and the threats if we didn't follow them. You know what I've noticed? You always have that one teacher that you love, and the rest you hate. This year, I love my history teacher. He's cool, and kind of looks like Wolverine. I can tell you're lost, journal. Do you even bother to read the popular magazines? No, of course you don't. All you do all day is just read everything I've written over and over again. Talk about creepy...

Lunch. Now, that was exciting. And gross. I had no idea where to sit, as all of the tables were taken by tall and big people. These people kept glaring at me. I glared back. Oliver warned me not to glare, or else I'd get beat up. But I'll tell you, if anyones getting beat up, it's them. Their scrunchy little faces and disregard for anything other than sex is just...terrible. Four years what? To me, they're just another person.

Well, journal. That's enough about my day. Wait! I forgot to tell you 'bout what happened with Miley today. So, we were sitting in math—which was terribly boring. Anyway, I noticed a small piece of paper fly onto my desk. It was from Miley. And you know what it said? It said in scratchy, scribbled handwriting _'I broke up with Jake.'_

I managed to keep it together in class. Barely. But the second I got out of Miley's sight, I did a happy dance. And yes, I did get some weird looks from people. It doesn't even matter, because Miley broke up with Jake! I have a chance! Now it's time for me to break out my 'player moves' book, and get her to fall for me. Shall I start with flowers? Or maybe a song that I'll have someone else sing for me. My singing ability isn't so great. Do I want to make her swoon, or shriek? Do I want this to be lust, or love? Can it be both? Eh, journal? Can it?

I'm too excited to write. I need to go dance. I think I'll find a mannequin and dance with it. That way, I'll look popular, when I'm not. No, I'm kidding. That's ridiculous.

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_8/27/07_

Entry #7

Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit, crap, dammit. They got back together. I'm dying inside, really I am. The hole in my stomach is growing, and growing. Soon enough, it'll be as big as my entire body. And that's the story of the girl who got sucked into...her own stomach?

I'll tell you how they got back together, or at least how Miley explained it to me:

So she was standing in her kitchen, when demon boy entered with roses and begged for her forgiveness. Being the sap that she is, she forgave him in an instant, pelting him with a sloppy kiss. Oh, and did I mention that she described how good it felt? In great detail? Well she did. My stomach is sinking. And dying.

Well, my SD is also growing. If you forgot what that stands for, I suggest you look back in my entries. If you've forgotten I think you may have a problem, it's written on you. All over your paper covered arms. (_Still, chills_)

So, back to Miley. It pains me so much to be around her right now. All she talks about is damn Jake. He just needs to go die. Like now. His stupid blond hair and bush eyebrows. Seriously, have you ever looked at his eyebrows? They are fricken huge! It's like an animal died on his forehead. I feel bad for that dead animal.

Okay, I have a plan. I'm breaking them up. Somehow. Maybe I'll send Jake a fake invitation to something that would make him even more famous. Miley would cry, and.....I would get to hug her! Yes! It's a double win! Oh brain, you never disappoint!

I gotta go write down my plan. Bye! Have fun wallowing in your own self pity, journal.

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_8/29/07_

Entry #8

The plan failed. Terribly.

It was seriously like watching something die. It was _that_ bad.

I guess I'll tell you what I did, since you obviously have nothing better to do.

So, it started out with me making a fake invitation to some dinner party, and Jake Ryan was _obviously_ invited.

I knew Jake wouldn't pass it up. But he did something I didn't expect. He rejected it. He said he'd rather spend time with his girlfriend.

After I heard that I made a Lego house, and destroyed it. Many times. The feeling of the plastic house crumbling beneath my fingers is so damn satisfying. If you haven't done it, I highly suggest it. Oh, and I got a punching bag and taped a picture of Jake's face to it. I punched it. Non-stop. All day. Time well spent.

I do have a question for you though, journal. Do you think I'm like...what's the word? Mental? Yeah. Do you think I'm like a mental patient? I'm sure Jake Ryan does. I wonder what he'd think if he knew that I thought his eyebrows were dead animals and that I pretend my punching bag is him? I'd actually really like to see his reaction...maybe I'll put it in my will that he has to read this when I die. Yeah. That sounds good to me.

Oh, and I did learn who 'Shawty' is. It's like a girlfriend or something. Well, that makes a lot more sense than 'Shawty' being a dog. 'Cause uh, who does things like that to their dog? Really? I think they're more mental institution worthy than I am...

I think I'll wrap this up with my plans for the future. No poem today. Sorry. I know you're disappointed that you don't get to laugh at my sap. Well, I have news for you. I am not a tree. Sap doesn't leak from me. It leaks from you, or at least what you used to be. Oh my God, that whole thing there, it just rhymed. I think I'm on my way to an 'Oprah Book Club' nomination. Yesss.

Okay, plans for the future...hmm....

I'll do my homework more often? Naa...

I'll come up with another plan.

I'll burn you alive.

That's a keeper, right there.

* * *

**I've recently found a strange fixation on 'Armor For Sleep'. That's a band. I didn't use to like them, but now I do. Sorry, I know you really don't care about what I have to say right now :D**

**Just...review? I know from experience that people click on stories with lots of reviews more often that ones with not as many.**

**Reviews make me happy too, like really happy.  
**


	6. Whoops

**Hi! I'm still alive. I just lost all motivation and came down with 2 colds in a month. And then it was girl scout cookie season.....I need to burn off Samoa fat....and I will, since it's a new soccer season, and my entire team consists of cross country runners. Oh god. Someone make my running speed go from 6.3 to 7.3 on the treadmill... **_

* * *

9/10/07_

Entry #9

Hey.

I have exciting things to say.

So today in school, I smelled smoke. So I obviously wanted to see if there was a fire. Maybe to you know, save a kitten, or something. But I didn't find a kitten. I found Oliver smoking weed. What the hell Oliver, seriously? I grabbed the joint from him and stomped on it. He then yelled at me that it was cool and that I'm stupid for not doing it. Yeah. Drugs are gonna get ya to college. For sure.

He's really fallen in with the wrong crowd since school started. It's only been a few weeks. What an idiot.

I haven't told Miley yet, about Oliver and his little 'issues'. I don't know if I will. Then again, it's something that we would talk about besides...icky man.

Oh, and um...Miley found the punching bag with Jake's face on it. Yeahh....

It was so tremendously awkward when she saw it. She was all 'what's that?' and I'm just like...crap.

She saw the Lego house, too. We built one together. When she wasn't looking I _accidentally_ stepped on it. Sorry Miley, my feet have random muscle spasms sometimes. Maybe I'll make my foot have a random spasm and kick your boyfriend's face off. _Whoops_.

I'm bored of writing, my lead is wearing thin. The lines are getting covered by the substance—staining. I shall stop now. I'm stopping. _Now_.

* * *

_10/30/07_

Entry #10

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

I saw her—naked! I saw Miley naked! Wait, I'm gonna picture it again. Ah....yes, I am a pervert. But today we went swimming for the last time before winter comes around and my tan fades away. And we were changing n'stuff, then I turned around, and there was her backside. And holy crap, she looked _so_ good. My jaw dropped—literally.

Then she turned around. Well....yeah. I know, I know, journal. You don't want to hear about my smut. But guess what? There was no smut. Just a blush from Miley and an even bigger blush from me. Nothing happened, but _oh my god_ did I wish something did. Like that time where I wished Miley would come over, _and she did!_ So, here's my wish: by the end of the year...okay, the end of next year. So, by the end of 2008, Miley will be mine. She will. And I'm not talkin' friendship. I'm talkin' full on romancin'. Oh yes. I'm dreaming, journal.

Damn your paper covered arms (_no, no more chills. Now it's snaps. Yeah, snaps). _Stupid Jake and his stupid flippy hair. We have the same hair color, and Miley's mentioned that she likes his hair. So that means she likes my hair, right? Yeah, right.

I'm gonna go get a haircut.

(no I'm not.)

* * *

_11/7/07_

Entry #11_  
_

Barney. I want to name my dog Barney. Though he's not purple, or a dinosaur. He didn't get fired for yelling at little kids—that was me. Yes, the secrets out. I was Barney long ago. I lived a double life. Dinosaur by day, human by night. Talk about an adrenaline rush.

_Speaking_ of adrenaline rushes...

Something happened today.

You want to know?

Too bad.

I'm leaving.

And I'm taking my dinosaur suit with me.

* * *

**I'll update sometime within the next month....maybe. Before I was in this...zone thing, and I was writing like a crazy woman. But now it's over, and I'm obsessed with drumming again.**

**I have too many hobbies.  
**


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